glass
by tommy turkish
Summary: He couldn't see. Between the rain streaming into his eyes and Pyro smashing his head into the ground, he couldn't see. Only imagine the worst." (complete)


the characters that endow the following with life are, unfortunately enough, not mine.  
  
~  
  
He was home. And he didn't know what to do with that.   
  
It had been three weeks of hell. Waking up at night, sweating, visions of what could have been, what almost had been, screaming at him in the dark, lingering even after he woke. Three weeks of needing her. So desperately. To take it all away, to tell him, show him, that it was okay. That she loved him in spite of his failure. To help him somehow live with himself in the face of it.  
  
Even now, walking out into the sun, across the basketball field to his home - their home - the night of the battle came roaring back. He watched, watched like he wasn't down on the ground, fighting against the dark and the rain and Juggernaut and Pyro. Watched himself frenzied, brutal in his attack, his defense. Remembered hearing her breath catch in her throat, her choked gasp. The scream that wasn't.   
  
But he heard her. Heard his name cut off in that sound although it never passed her lips. And he turned, to save her. Because that was just the way it happened. That was what he did.   
  
Only then he was falling, hitting the pavement hard under the weight of Juggernaut's assault. And he couldn't see. Between the rain streaming into his eyes and Pyro smashing his head into the ground, he couldn't see. Only imagine the worst.  
  
And when he finally looked at her again.. It must have only been seconds. He'd thought it over countless times and it couldn't have taken the hours he felt it did. But it took too long.  
  
She was limp, the light in her eyes softening into emptiness, struggling against Sabretooth's hold on her throat.  
  
And he was running to her, pushing the desperate sobs back down his throat, because she wasn't dead yet, she wasn't dead yet, he wouldn't let her die.  
  
And when Mystique threw herself at him, he threw her off, claws swinging, again and again, willing himself not to scream, not to so uselessly expend the energy he needed. Marie needed.  
  
But she wouldn't stop. And then Juggernaut was there, hitting the places she missed. Holding him back.  
  
The yell ripped itself from his throat. He tried, so hard, to wrench free, fought the rage at his attackers, determined to not kill them now, to leave it alone. To get to her. Instead they let him watch. In between their various attempts at rendering him unconscious, or dead, he watched the life ebb out of his wife.  
  
And so it was in between blows that he saw the explosion throw Victor backwards. Saw Marie drop to the ground, unmoving heap, and Gambit run over to her, lobbing everything he could pick up along the way at Sabretooth, keeping him down. Keeping him away.  
  
The relief that flooded his body nearly sent him to his knees. Logan dodged arms, legs, pulling the whole time, pushing, trying to move, and finally saw her lift her head. Nod, at something the Cajun said, attempt a weak smile.   
  
And so he knew that she was alive. That he hadn't lost his soul. So he fought, letting all the rage that threatened to consume do exactly that, and within hours it was over.  
  
But he knew, too, how close it had been. So terrifyingly close. That he, ultimately, had failed.  
  
And it was that thought that filled the void that the rage left. Before Marie left, to go back to the institute, to recuperate, he had kept it at bay. But, forced to stay behind, to clean up the mess, tie up loose ends, he lost the only other thing that filled, and had to concede to his guilt. For three weeks he had indulged it. And still, so close to seeing her, it gnawed.  
  
He pulled his pack taut across his shoulder and moved toward the mansion, anticipation warring with an almost inexplicable dread in the pit of his stomach.   
  
~  
  
"So now what? Do I flip this over yet?"   
  
"No! No, leave that one face down. Chere, look at what you've got in your hands before you go all flipping shit over."  
  
"I swear I don't have anything."  
  
"Are you sure?"  
  
"I swear."  
  
"Check again."  
  
Laughter bubbling over her lips at that, barely controlled up till now, spilling. Logan stopped by the rec room door, breathing slowed to a near stop. Listening. He knew how she looked when she laughed like that, all carefree, wonder-full, young. His heart tugged, painful. Because he'd missed it. Because he needed so bad for her to laugh with him like that right now. But she was with someone else. And he wondered what that meant. What he was supposed to maybe ultimately understand from that.  
  
"Arright, sugar, what is it you know about these cards that I don't? And, seeing as they're my cards, how exactly do you know what you do?"  
  
He laughed then. Warm and ripe with undercurrent. Logan forced himself not to flinch. Swallow the growl that threatened.  
  
"Logan."  
  
He looked up as Jean enveloped him in a quick hug.   
  
"Welcome back," her green eyes shone friendly, sincere. "We missed you."  
  
A hardness settled itself suddenly in his throat and he gripped his pack a little tighter.  
  
"Yeah?"   
  
His eyes went far for a minute and when they came back Jean found them gazing anywhere but at her, and... pained.  
  
"Thanks Jeannie, it's good to be back."  
  
Almost imperceptible glance at the open door of the rec room and she was watching him walk away.  
  
~  
  
The old feelings died hard he figured. A couple days in and he couldn't be in the same room with her, couldn't lie beside her in the dark and pretend it was okay. The boathouse was empty. Pleading time to think, some time alone, he moved in. And tried to banish the sight of her face, uncomprehending, hurt, from his dreams. Pushed it away, finally, some nights, only to have it replaced by the rain and the dark, and her dying slowly in Victor's hands. Two nightmares now, to tack on to countless others. Infinity plus two. And no one to quiet them.   
  
And he figured that was a problem. Needing her so much. He couldn't remember the last time he actually slept without her beside him. It sure as hell wasn't happening now. Couldn't remember when exactly she'd become the part of him that was vulnerable.  
  
A problem too, that he'd promised he'd protect her. That, whatever else he knew he'd never be able to give her - the lightness, laughter, untainted innocence of the younger men she loved in her way - he figured he'd be able to keep her safe. Except ... except. So that left him in a bad place. Insecurities rose like bile and how, now, was he going to justify it?   
  
His need too great. Her's diminished. All things shifting. So he lay awake, staring into nothing, the hurt and confusion chasing eachother around in his head.  
  
~  
  
"He won't talk to me."  
  
Scott, silent, waited.  
  
"Well he talks to me. But it's like he's not there. Or trying so hard not to be."  
  
She sipped. Swallowed.  
  
"I thought we'd finally got it right. Love, passion, trust. We'd finally worked it out. Now... I don't know if I wouldn't rather go back to being the kid he didn't and then wouldn't see. I think it might have hurt less."  
  
Studied her glass. The swell and the glint of it.  
  
"I don't even know why."  
  
The eyes across from her, perpetual hidden by the red of glass, essentially, looked back at her. Glass, she thought, not unlike the one she held, hoping for some degree of release, but dense, dark. She saw beyond the red, though, through to the skepticism in his rumored blue depths. Purple. They'd be purple if the glass just gave a little. Opaque.  
  
Tearing her eyes away from the gaze that wasn't, Marie looked away, the table blurring.  
  
"You think it's because of Victor? That night?"  
  
She heard the breath leave his lungs before he took it all on. Loved him a little more for it.  
  
"That night, maybe. Not Victor."  
  
"Remy then? Me?"  
  
She felt like a child. Tentative answers as questions to fend them off a little longer. Hoping for a reply she could sleep with at night.  
  
"Not Remy, Marie. Not you."  
  
She just looked at him, eyes glinting like her glass. He sighed again. Exhaled soft.  
  
"Himself, if anyone. Circumstance."  
  
"That he didn't save me."  
  
"Couldn't, Marie. Mortality is never easy to accept, not really. Until one day it slams into you as inescapable truth."  
  
He shifted in his seat, toyed with the bottle in front of him.  
  
"He's invicible Marie. That's his reality. No one knows when or even if he's ever going to have to come to terms with his own mortality. If it ever was an issue, it was too long ago for him to remember now. Wolverine. Except, you're part of the equation now. And the very real possibility of your ... death has suddenly presented itself. As something he has less control over than originally anticipated maybe."  
  
Lifted the bottle to drink, found he couldn't. Set it back down.  
  
"And so in its wake he finds himself suddenly, ultimately, helpless. Logan. Helpless. It'd be hard enough for most members of the X-Team to accept, let alone him. I ... I just don't know ..."  
  
He stopped, hurting, because she was crying now, tears caught between her eyes and the sleeve of her sweatshirt. He moved a hand to her hair, stroked gently.  
  
She looked up then, eyes red-rimmed and despairing. Lifted her eyebrows and laughed, small, short exhalation of air.  
  
"He's trying to stop loving me."  
  
And then she needed her hand suddenly to hold up the weight of her head. The lead settling in her heart.  
  
~  
  
"Rogue, girl, phone."  
  
Marie looked up from the tv screen at Jubilee, framed by the light of the hallway, dangling the cordless. Scrambling off the couch she watched Storm pause the tape and took the phone from Jubes.  
  
"I didn't even hear it ring."  
  
"Yeah, well, I was on the other line, but they said it was important," she shrugged, grinning.  
  
"Thanks, Jubes."  
  
She leaned into the stool by the phone table. Smiled at Remy, sent for more food.  
  
"Hello?"  
  
~  
  
She hung up the phone and just sat there, receiver clenched in rigid fingers. Five-odd minutes later Gambit, walking back from the kitchen, stopped at the sight of her face.  
  
"Rogue?"  
  
She looked up at him, eyes bright, unseeing.  
  
"Jubes," he called into the tv room. "Take this inside, will you?"  
  
Her glance awry at him as she walked out to gather the bags. But bit back any comment as she looked over at Rogue.  
  
"Chere, you okay?"  
  
She nodded finally, her eyes connecting with his, focusing.  
  
"Fine, sugar. I'm fine."  
  
She looked past him, over his shoulder almost, before glancing back down at the phone in her hand. Wordlessly she handed it to him.  
  
"I ... I'm just gonna get a drink. Don't wait for me. I ... I dunno, I might lie down. Long day. I'll watch the rest of it some other time. The movie..."   
  
~  
  
The kitchen seemed as good a place to go as any. And she had said she would get a drink. Opening the fridge, she could almost not notice Logan sitting at the table, nursing his own concoction. She remembered Gambit with the snacks. Through her haze, she found herself wondering briefly how that had gone. She pulled out a bottle, uncapped it and, leaning back against the counter, brought it up to dry lips. The liquid tumbling down her throat found itself suddenly reincarnated in her eyes and the fridge in front of her slid away. Her hands were shaking then. Inexplicable refusing to stay still and it was all she could do to hold on to her drink until it slipped into the linoleum floor, shattered.  
  
"Marie," her husband was beside her suddenly, and it was the closest she had been to him in weeks. "Marie, darlin', what's wrong? What's wrong?"  
  
She cried, then, really cried, at the concern in his voice, the words thick with worry, with love. Cried, weeping, as she leaned into him, wound trembling arms around his neck and held on.  
  
His heart near exploded. All the feelings he'd tried to erase, tamp down, swelled through him with such violence it hurt. His own eyes filled. At her pain. At the simple, quiet way she fit into him. He picked her up, lifted her onto the counter, her bare feet too close to the broken shards for comfort, and held her while she wept.  
  
"Shhh, baby. I'm sorry Marie. I'm sorry baby. It's okay, shhh, it's okay."  
  
"It's not okay, Logan. There's no time to make it okay."  
  
The words murmured against his chest went straight through.  
  
"Baby, there's always time."  
  
She shook her head into his shirt. Gripped him a little harder.  
  
"My mother's dying Logan."   
  
She looked at him then, tremors subsiding. Breathed.  
  
"My dad just called. My dad. I haven't talked to him in six years. I don't even know how he got the number. But he did. And she's ... got cancer. He thought I should know."  
  
She brushed white strands out of her eyes.  
  
"So she's dying. She hates me, and she's gonna die."  
  
Clenched fists, voice coloured helpless, angry.  
  
"I thought I had more time than this."  
  
He watched her, heart in his brown eyes. Understanding, impotent.  
  
"I didn't think it would hurt so bad. I ... didn't think."  
  
His arms wound around her, his mouth against the side of her throat.  
  
"You just don't get to choose, do you? Who you fall for ... how hard."  
  
She smiled at that, watery through tears.   
  
"Yeah..."  
  
"I love you, Marie."  
  
"Logan."  
  
"No, I ... I don't know what I'd ever do without you. I... don't like thinking about it. Don't like going anywhere near thinking about it. Shit, sometimes I get so scared."  
  
"I love you. You're not allowed to just walk away from it, Logan. I need you."  
  
He kissed her. Gentle, reverent.  
  
"I'm here."  
  
"Will you come back with me?"  
  
"Meridian?"  
  
Everything, all she didn't know how to answer yet in the one word.   
  
"Yeah..."  
  
"Anywhere."  
  
Her lips slid into his then.  
  
"I want to forget for tonight. Just tonight.."  
  
He nodded, grave. Smiled soft. His hands at her hips distracting.  
  
"Oh, Logan, the glass. I've got to clean it up... the kids..."  
  
Slight pressure on her thighs to keep her where she was.  
  
"I got it."  
  
She watched from the counter-top as her husband swept up the broken glass. 


End file.
